Кара Хантер - No Way Out

The two women are silent for a moment. Somer has turned away again but Everett is still watching her. Suddenly, several stray observations she's made about Somer since they became friends fall into place.

`You do, too. Don't you. Know someone, I mean.'

Somer glances up. `My sister. She's three years older than me.'

`What happened?' asks Everett softly.

Somer sighs. `It was bloody awful. Kath was always one of those people you struggle to keep up with. Completely gorgeous to look at, for a start `“'

Which might explain something about Somer, too, thinks Everett. For someone so attractive, Somer's never seemed at all fixated by her looks. But if she has a stunner for a sister, perhaps that explains it.

`Kath was always top stream at school `“ she got a great degree, a job in a major law firm, married a guy who adored her. Then she hit thirty and decided that if she was going to have a baby she'd better get on with it. She had all these plans `“ she'd hire a live-in au pair, go back to work, have it all. And the baby was beautiful `“ the most gorgeous little girl you've ever seen. And Kath could hardly bear to look at her.'

Everett reaches out and touches Somer lightly on the shoulder. She knows how much she isn't saying; how hard this must have been. `How old is the baby now?'

`Eighteen months. And it's taken Kath most of that time to crawl back to who she used to be. But she's still not back at work. They had to sign her off on long-term sick leave. Most people have no idea how long PND can last.'

Everett makes a face. `It must have been really tough. Especially on her husband.'

`Stuart? He's a bloody hero. I dread to think how she'd have coped without a partner like him.'

They're both silent now, but they're both thinking the same thing: what kind of partner did Samantha Esmond have?

The door opens again and one of the uniform PCs comes in. She and Somer exchange a nod.

`OK,' says Everett more briskly as the cubicle door closes. `What now?'

`First thing tomorrow I'm going to talk to her GP,' says Somer. `See what they can tell us.'

`It's a bit odd, isn't it, that Samantha's parents never said anything?'

Somer shakes her head. `It was months before Stu told my parents. Sometimes a problem shared just makes things twice as bad `“ especially if people live a long way away and can't do anything practical to help.'

There's a hinterland of pain here that Everett knows better than to trespass on.

At least not now.

I'm in the car when the phone rings. Queuing to get past the ring road. It doesn't matter which way you try to get into this city in the morning rush hour (and believe me, I've tried them all), you always end up waiting in line. I'm not in the best of moods, and in two minds whether to answer the damn phone. Until I see who it is.

`Alex? It's fantastic to hear from you. How are you? How's your sister?'

Too much, Fawley, too much.

There's a pause. This isn't good.

`Alex?'

`Who is she, Adam?'

I'm not sure what freezes my heart more: the question or the tone she asks it in.

`Who's who? Sorry, you've lost me.'

`Oh, don't give me that. You're an awful liar, you always have been.'

`Seriously, I haven't a clue what you're talking about.'

I hear her draw breath. Ragged, angry breath. `I came by the house this morning to pick up my post `“'

`You should have said `“ I'd have waited. Why didn't you say?'

``“ and as I was leaving I saw Mrs Barrett.'

Who lives opposite us and is a right old busybody with far too much time on her hands. This isn't good either.

`She said she saw you `“ with her. '

` Who? Look, Alex, I'm not bullshitting you `“ I don't know what you're talking about. Seriously. And why you'd believe that Barrett woman rather than me `“'

`Because she has no reason to lie!'

My turn to draw breath. We need to slow this down. Take some of the emotion out of it.

`Alex, I swear. I. Do. Not. Know. And as for seeing another woman `“ you think I even have time ?'

But I know even before the words are out that was the wrong thing to say.

`Please `“ don't hang up. We haven't talked in weeks and now this? I swear to you I have not been seeing anyone else. I love you ; I want you to come home. How many more ways can I say that? What can I do to make you believe me?'

Silence.

`Look, I know we have some problems. I know you want to adopt and I wish with all my heart that I felt the same way about it as you do, but I don't. And I can't let us build a family on a fault line like that. It's not fair to you, and it's not fair `“ above all `“ to any child we might take on.'

I don't need to say that. I've said it, and she's heard it, time out of mind. Back in November, she made me listen to a radio series about finding adoptive parents for a brother and sister of two and three. The foster carer, the diligent, careful social worker, the new parents who were at one and the same time overjoyed to give a home to these tiny children they'd never met and fearful they might not even like them, and the final episode, recorded months later, when the four of them had made themselves into a family, with all the same love and muddle and working-it-out-as-you-go-along every family has. I knew why Alex wanted me to hear it; of course I did. She wanted to prove to me that not everyone feels the same way as I do about being adopted. That it's possible to find love and belonging and acceptance. The proof was there, in that episode: all the people who wrote in because they were touched and moved, and those who'd felt vindicated in their own decision to adopt themselves, whatever the challenges. But then, at the end, there was a woman in her fifties who described adoption as a life sentence, who described the guilt at feeling always different `like some ghastly kind of cuckoo', the sense of disconnection, and the pain which only gets worse, not easier, the older you become. Alex stood there, frozen to the spot. I couldn't bear to look at her so I walked to the window and stared down at the garden it was too dark to see. Three days later, she told me she was leaving.

And now there's silence at the end of the line.

`Alex `“'

`It was Sunday.' Her voice is icy. `Mrs Barrett was putting out the bins and she saw a woman leaving the house. She said you two seemed very `њpally`ќ.' There's bitterness now. `Blonde. Late twenties. Very attractive ,' she adds. `Apparently.'

And now I know. Both who that was and why it's causing Alex so much pain. She thinks I'm trying to replace her. With someone young enough to give me a child.

`That was Somer. Erica Somer. She's on the team. You know that.'

But Alex has never met her. She wasn't at my birthday drinks.

`Mrs Barrett didn't say anything about a uniform.'

`That's because Somer's CID now. I told you.'

`So what was she doing there? At our house ? On a Sunday ? At ten o'clock at night ?' But there's a hesitancy now. She wants to believe me. Or at least I want to think so.

`She wanted to check something with me. And the place was a state, so she offered to help clear up a bit. That's all it was. Really.'

Silence again.

`It did look tidier than I expected,' she says eventually. `This morning.'

`I can't take the credit for that. I was going to, of course, but you've rumbled me now. And like you say, I'm a terrible liar.'

I try to put a laugh into my voice. To draw her in.

In front of me, the traffic is suddenly moving and the car behind is sounding its horn.

`Look, why don't you come over later `“ I can get a takeaway. Bottle of wine. We can talk properly.'